


Day 17: Pillow Talk

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [17]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Ancient Rome, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Lust, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: “It makes you feel . . . good . . . after.” Crowley says haltingly. He thinks about how he’s felt after his best sleeps. “The world seems new again, and anything seems possible.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 12
Kudos: 129





	Day 17: Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> All the stories in this series are written for the Ineffable Valentines challenge on Tumblr. This story could be read as a stand alone, but directly follows and references events in [Day 16: Flower](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763494) and [Day 9: Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641733), but all the stories in this series are linked together, so if you want a full picture of what exactly is going on, please start with [ Day 1: Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520329).
> 
> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)

Rome, 41 AD

Crowley hears Aziraphale sigh heavily next to him. The bed moves a little bit as the angel wiggles. “Is there anything special I am supposed to do?” 

They’re tucked away in Crowley’s bedroom in the domus he uses when he stays in Rome. Aziraphale still hasn’t found a permanent place for his scrolls and codices. When Aziraphale had complained that he had overeaten, Crowley had suggested that Aziraphale try sleeping. Aziraphale had admitted that he had transformed his bedroom into a reading room, and there was simply no room for a bed . . . or even company. Aziraphale had then all but invited himself over to Crowley’s place and asked with that bright smile and those wide blue eyes if Crowley could teach him how to sleep. Crowley thought at the time that Aziraphale would be rather good at temptations if he put his mind to it. He also thought about all the other things humans do that he’d like to teach Aziraphale. The things they do  _ before _ they go to sleep. 

Crowley rolls onto his side so he can face the angel. Moonlight streams through the bedroom windows. Aziraphale’s white blonde hair almost glows. It’s so beautiful and looks so delicately soft. Crowley wonders if Aziraphale would let him touch it. He can’t imagine the angel agreeing to it ten years ago, but something . . . something has changed. Maybe quite drastically. “You just go to sleep.” 

“But  _ how? _ ” 

It’s Crowley’s turn to sigh. “You just _ do _ .” He purses his lips, trying to think of how to define it. “Close your eyes.”

Aziraphale turns his head towards Crowley with a delighted expression on his face. “Oh, is it . . . Is it like meditation? I’ve done that before, it’s so peaceful and lovely.”

The light reflecting in Aziraphale’s eyes is breathtaking. Crowley softens his retort. “Kind of close, angel. But you’re unconscious.”

“Like fainting?”

“But fainting is done accidentally.” Aziraphale’s face is too close and too tempting. Crowley turns his head to the ceiling. “I really can’t believe you’ve never done this.”

Aziraphale huffs. “Well, I am supposed to watch over Humanity.” He turns his face to the ceiling as well. 

“Humanity is asleep! Unless you plan to just keep wandering the Earth everywhere the sun is up.” 

“Oh, not anymore,” he says. “I did that those first thousand years, it was very difficult. Made my reports to Gabriel very long.”

Crowley’s brows go together in horrified surprise, and he turns his head back to study the angel’s outline in bed beside him. “Are you telling me you circled the globe following the sun for  _ 1000 _ years?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale says. He turns back to look at Crowley. ”Well,” he considers for a second, “maybe not the whole 1000 years. I spent a long time with Adam and Eve at first, but then I decided to do a little exploring, and once I found the Native Americans and the Australians, I realized that God had made more people and that I ought to look after them as well. It was dreadfully hard work. I only stopped because Gabriel said my reports were getting too long and that I should narrow my focus.” 

Crowley shouldn’t be surprised by any of this information. “After that, you deserve a nice long sleep,” he says truthfully. “Close your eyes.”

Aziraphale complies. Crowley takes the time to study his face in the moonlight. His lips look soft and inviting. Crowley wonders briefly if Aziraphale would respond if he just leaned over and . . .

“Is something else supposed to happen?”

Crowley thinks about kissing Aziraphale to shut him up now, but he is also convinced that their time together would be at an abrupt end if he did so. And he . . . doesn’t want that. He was in such a rotten mood when Aziraphale first approached him and now . . . it’s better. So much better. How can a bloody angel make a demon feel so much better? “Nothing is supposed to happen. That’s the point.”

“Nothing?” Aziraphale’s eyes open. “Then why do you do it?”

“It makes you feel . . . good . . . after.” Crowley says haltingly. He thinks about how he’s felt after his best sleeps. “The world seems new again, and anything seems possible.” 

Aziraphale smiles gently at him. Crowley turns his head to the ceiling again. This was a terrible idea. Why did he suggest the angel learn to sleep? What made him agree  _ to teach _ him?  _ You didn’t think Aziraphale would agree to lying in bed with you, _ he admits to himself. 

“You know, I was unconscious, once.” 

Crowley snorts. “It is not the same thing.”

“But you said you’re unconscious when you sleep.” 

Crowley struggles for words. “You are, but--” he pauses. “Tell me about the time you were unconscious.”

“Well, I assume I was unconscious, I have a big blank spot in my memory, I’m afraid.”

“Had you been drinking?” 

Aziraphale scowls. “Crowley!”

“I’m just asking.”

“I did not drink myself into a stupor! Someone robbed me!”

Crowley turns his whole body towards Aziraphale now. He bends his elbow and rests his head in his hand. “Someone robbed you? How did that happen?”

Aziraphale clasps his hands over his belly. He refused Crowley’s offer of sleepwear and is instead fully dressed in his formal toga. Crowley had snapped himself into a short silk tunic when they entered the bedroom. The layers of his black toga had been boiling him alive in the summer heat.

“I was hit over the head! One moment I was leaving a restaurant after a sumptuous meal and the next thing I knew this old woman was bent over asking me if I was all right. I have no memory of what happened in between, but I assumed I was hit over the head and unconscious. My purse was gone. It was an awful experience.”

“You should have called to me. I’d come sort the bastards out. Scare them straight.”

Aziraphale blinks at him. “What a queer thing to say, Crowley. I have no idea who the man- or woman, I suppose, was who did it. And I wasn’t harmed, well, nothing a little miracle couldn’t fix. And I didn’t really need the money.”

“Yeah, but, assaulting innocent angels on the street, that’s-“

“I’m not innocent,” Aziraphale says defiantly.. “I knew what I was doing there.” 

Crowley sputters. “You mean to tell me you were asking for someone to mug you? Was this some kind of sting operation?”

“Obviously not. But I was in a very unseemly part of town, and by myself, and it was late at night. To a certain extent, I knew that I was walking into a dangerous situation.” 

“So because you put yourself in danger, you shouldn’t have the criminals who did it punished?” Crowley is outraged on his behalf. 

Aziraphale begins to quote, “Do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well.”

Crowley watches him with a puzzled expression. “Who the devil are you quoting?” 

“Jesus.”

“Well things turned out really well for him with that attitude, didn’t they?” he retorts. 

“Yes, I mean, no, oh . . . Crowley, I told you, I knew you weren’t really paying attention. He gave a lovely sermon at the extended information session in Heaven.” 

Crowley slides back up on one elbow to look at Aziraphale. “Is that why you’re . . .” he trails off, gesturing between them. “Taking a risk like this?” 

The angel rolls over and mimics his pose. “A risk like what?”

“You’re lying in a bed trying to sleep.” 

“I have laid down many times, although not with the intention of sleeping,” Aziraphale says thoughtfully. 

“You’re lying down in _my_ bed. With _me_.” 

“I told you, my room is full of scrolls! There’s nowhere to try to sleep.” 

Crowley rubs a hand over his forehead. “Angel.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Do you realize, if any of your lot saw you here, with me, like this, what would happen to you?” 

“But Crowley, those were in the old days!” Aziraphale says brightly. “That’s what’s so wonderful about Jesus’s message. I was telling you over dinner-- he wants us to be friends! Isn’t that lovely? He says we are to love our enemies!” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighs. “Aziraphale, I was in Heaven for only a very short period of time before my Fall, but I cannot believe that Gabriel or Michael told you to go out and love your enemies.” 

“But it doesn’t matter what Gabriel says.”

“Tell that to Gabriel.” 

“You don’t understand. Jesus brought a message to the whole Heavenly Host, Crowley. From God Herself! It was such a . . . such a wonderful message. Everything I’ve always felt inside validated.” 

Crowley had heard this story over dinner, even if he was distracted by trying to start a bar fight over a game of latrunculi at the time. As nice as it all sounds, he knows better. He purses his lips and rolls his eyes. “You and Jesus might be on the same page, but I doubt Gabriel sees things that way. When’s your next report due?” 

“I’m not sure, actually. Gabriel sent a message that said there will be a change in how I report, it’s coming in the clarification message I’m supposed to receive, but I haven’t seen any new forms yet or messages. We’re almost halfway through the century, so it’s coming up soon.” 

“All right, well, don’t put this in your report, all right?”

“But-”

“Look, even if you’re right and everything is so wonderful now, it is still not wonderful in Hell and I’d be in an awful lot of trouble if my side found out about this.” Crowley thinks about Axiemoine and a shudder goes through him.

“Are you cold? I could close the window.” Aziraphale starts to rise. Crowley grabs his toga, pulls him back down. When Aziraphale lands they’re closer together on the bed. Crowley can feel the heat from the angel’s body. 

“No, I’m not cold, just thinking. Listen, angel,” he says seriously. “You should think about what you’re going to put in that report very seriously. And I don’t think you should put in things about loving your enemies.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale begins, but Crowley squeezes his arm. 

“I’m serious, Aziraphale. None of this sounds like the Heaven I was kicked out of. I can’t believe that everything has just suddenly turned on its head. You need to be very, very careful.” 

Aziraphale pulls away. “I am careful!” he protests. “I’m very careful. No one has found out about our . . . link, for example.”

“Do you think your new best friend Jesus would approve?” 

Aziraphale pouts. “Honestly, Crowley, you’re just horrible sometimes.” He turns away from Crowley and crosses his arms over his chest. 

Crowley grins in the darkness. “I am a demon.” 

“You certainly are wicked!” he sniffs. “And Jesus is not my new best friend.” 

There’s a long silence. Crowley feels very . . . pleased by that statement. He’s not sure what exactly he and Aziraphale are to each other. Best enemies? Theirs has never seemed like an acrimonious relationship. But friends . . . he’s not sure he’s allowed to have friends, let alone a  _ best _ friend. And he is pretty sure that best friends don’t fantasize about taking each other’s clothes off and fucking each other silly. Or being fucked. 4,000 years of pent up sexual frustration and Crowley doesn’t much care one way or the other, as long as Aziraphale is his partner. These thoughts are not helping to cool him down. 

He looks up at the ceiling. Aziraphale shifts on the bed. It rocks gently as he moves onto his back. A moment later Crowley feels the angel’s fingers curl into his own. They squeeze gently, then move away. Through the open window, Crowley can hear the distant strains of a lute at someone’s party. His fingers feel bereft. 

“What were we talking about before all this?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Can’t remember,” Crowley says flatly. All he can think about is he feel of Aziraphale’s hand in his own. Their shoulders are almost touching. Crowley can smell the angel beside him. When Aziraphale does leave, Crowley thinks he will put his face into that pillow and smell him and think about those glorious curves and come very hard. 

They are silent for a moment more, then Aziraphale says, “Unconsciousness!” with triumph in his voice. “Anyway, so yes, I have been unconscious before, and the mugging was not my own fault, but . . . a hazard of the job, I guess you could say. Maybe I was just too tempting a target.” Aziraphale giggles to himself. “I seem to be doing a lot of tempting, lately.” 

Crowley tries to stifle his chuckle, but finds he can’t. “Tempting me to oysters and being a target for a couple of lousy thieves does not actually count.” He smiles. “I don’t think you meant to do any tempting, you just . . . got caught up in things.” 

Aziraphale nods. “I suppose I was dressed better than everyone else.”

“You usually are,” Crowley says before his brain can tell his mouth to shut the fuck up immediately. 

Aziraphale does not seem to notice this inner torment. “Do you think so?” he asks, delighted. “I’ve always thought I had an eye for fashion.”

“Is that why you won’t take this kit off to sleep?” Crowley tugs at the sleeve of Aziraphale’s toga gently. When he thought about Aziraphale in his bed he thought about him wearing far fewer layers. And moaning. There was definitely a lot of moaning involved. 

“I told you, I am quite comfortable as I am.”

“What were you doing in an unseemly part of town, anyway?”

“Good. The same thing I do in seemly parts of town.” 

Crowley lays back down. “Not sure Gabriel would approve of that,” he says slowly. “Or of this.”

Beside him, Aziraphale shimmies a bit. “Well, he doesn’t know, and I don’t have to tell him. I won’t, because you asked.” 

Crowley closes his eyes. He is tired. Sleep sounds wonderful right about now. He’s nice and cool and he could just drift off right here, listening to Aziraphale’s breathing. He feels himself drifting off. Aziraphale’s voice breaks through. 

“Crowley, would you . . . would you come back, if you could?”

Crowley hums sleepily. “Come back where?”

“To Heaven.”

His eyes snap open. Well he’s awake  _ now _ . Crowley idly wonders if angels can suffer from madness, but he thinks that if circling the globe for 1000 years continuously didn’t do it to him, nothing will. “Are you daft? You don’t even want to be there, why would  _ I _ want to be there?” 

“Well, not specifically to Heaven, dear, I mean . . . I mean to my side.” 

Crowley can’t help it. His suspicions are raised. “Is that why you agreed to try this? Are you trying to  _ convert _ me?” 

Aziraphale flutters. “Oh, no, no, I was just wondering . . .”

“Well the answer is no.” 

“Oh.” There’s a heavy pause. Crowley can hear the gears in Aziraphale’s head turning. He grits his teeth. “Why?”

“Because Gabriel’s a wanker.” 

Aziraphale giggles. Crowley can feel the bed shake gently. “Oh my goodness . . . He is not my favorite person.” It’s as close to an insult as Crowley has ever heard the angel use. “But that would keep you from God’s love?”

“God is the one who rejected me, angel.”

“But if you could come back-”

“I wouldn’t,” he says, with a note of finality. “I wouldn’t ever come back. She cast me out. She is the one who told me to go.”

When Aziraphale speaks again, his voice is very quiet. “Would you . . . would you tell me about it?”

Crowley turns to look at him, and finds Aziraphale staring at him. They are almost nose to nose. He can smell the wine on the angel’s breath. “Why do you want to hear about that?”

Aziraphale’s hand covers his own again, clasps it tight. “Because I don’t understand,” he says simply. “I don’t understand why you would never come back to Her if you could.” 

Crowley turns away and stares at the ceiling again. “It’s not a nice story.” 

“I know,” he whispers. “Please, tell me anyway,  dearest .” 

It’s the  _ dearest _ that gets him. Dearest what? Dearest enemy? Dearest friend? Or is it just another word to Aziraphale, like  _ yes _ or  _ wine _ or  _ please _ ? The word swirls in the place inside Crowley where God’s love used to dwell. The hole that cannot ever be filled again.  _ Could you fill me up, Aziraphale, Principality of Love, Guardian of the Eastern Gate? If God won’t have me back, would you bring Her to me? Is that what you’re trying to do?  _

In the darkness and the moonlight, he tells Aziraphale the story. It’s a story of a mother’s unconditional love, the story of a rebellion, the story of a rejection. He tells Aziraphale about his questions, he tells Aziraphale about Lucifer and Satan, he tells Aziraphale about the vote in the theater of stars. When Crowley goes silent, Aziraphale brings their clasped hands up and kisses Crowley’s knuckle. So Crowley tells him about the burn of the wind as he fell, the numbness inside him, the chaos of Hell. 

By the end, he can feel Aziraphale’s shoulders shaking as he cries. Crowley’s tears long ago dried up. He can’t muster sorrow anymore. This is just the way things are. It’s ineffable. 

Crowley falls asleep with Aziraphale’s hand clasped tightly in his own. In the morning, the angel is gone. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos!


End file.
